


Whumptober 2020 - Stranger Things

by sternenblumen



Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Whump, Whumptober 2020, heat exhaustion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26778112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternenblumen/pseuds/sternenblumen
Summary: Stories written for Whumptober 2020 in the Stranger Things fandom
Relationships: Joyce Byers & Jim "Chief" Hopper, slight hints at Joyce/Hopper
Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952320
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Day 2 - Kidnapped

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Whumtober 2020! This is where I will post my Stranger Things fics - I'm alternating between them and The Musketeers. (Check out those fics, too, if you like! I've linked both works as a series.)
> 
> Alas, despite starting in September this year, I don't have very much written yet. I will keep writing throughout October and try to finish all 31 fics but I might not be posting daily and/or in the correct order. Thank you for reading in any case! And as ever, comments, kudos and all of that stuff make me happy, so please leave some!
> 
> Tags will be added as needed. (Ask to tag if you think I missed something!)
> 
> Day 2: Kidnapped - Steve

Steve sighed and let his head fall back against the wall with a thunk. To be fair, this time around, being held captive was far less painful than the last time when he had enjoyed the wonderful hospitality of Russian soldiers – no one had come to beat him up, ask him questions or actually do anything to him.

The downside was that it was terribly boring.

He didn't even quite know who had kidnapped him. The last thing he remembered was being outside in the garden, washing the windows opening to the garden and the pool. He hated the pool, rarely used it these days and kept the curtains closed. If he had a choice, he'd probably have it filled in and paved over. But after all, it was still his parents' house, as little time as they spent in it, and so he kept the pool in a good condition and washed the windows once in a while.

That's what it got him, though, a hit to the head (presumably) and waking up in a small, windowless room, with a door that didn't open no matter how much he banged against it, shouting until he was hoarse. It had opened sometimes later to admit a man, tall, broad shoulders, easily threatening enough to make Steve almost rethink his intention to fight his way out. He'd tried anyway but the man had grabbed his arm and twisted it up his back until he saw stars. By the time he had been released and his vision had cleared, the throbbing in his arm gone back to a manageable level, the man had disappeared, leaving behind a plate with food – some greasy fast-food hamburger and fries – and a bottle of water. That must have been yesterday, Steve guessed. He was definitely hungry and thirsty again, apart from being bored.

The sound of a key turning made him perk up and look towards the door. Maybe he would have a chance this time, he thought as he got to his feet and crouched in a position ready to launch himself at whoever came in.

He froze when he saw the pistol in the hand of the man entering the room. It was the same tall man from before, and he smiled at the teenager as if he'd expected him to try to fight again and wouldn't mind another round. The gun was much better at discouraging Steve, though, and he raised his hands up instinctively. "Don't shoot," he said and was glad that his voice was not shaking, at least.

"I won't if you don't give me a reason to," the man said pleasantly and then stepped to the side, gun still trained on Steve. Another man entered the room, this one slightly shorter, clean-shaven and in nondescript simple clothing, jeans and a T-shirt. He wore glasses and studied Steve through them as if he was a particularly interesting frog he was about to dissect.

Steve tried to stand tall and not look too intimidated. "Who are you, and what do you want from me?" he demanded to know.

"What everyone wants in life, rich boy." The man grinned but there was no humour in it. "Money. I guess your parents would pay a pretty penny to get you back in one piece."

Steve felt suddenly cold. Would they? It was not something he had thought about before but now, he had to think back to his father's last rant at him after he had gotten another rejection letter from a college and his parents had been home for a change. If he was being honest with himself, the possibility that they would _not_ want him back was not zero. And what then?

"They're not even in Hawkins!" he protested. "I haven't seen them in months, and I have no idea when they'll be back."

The man frowned, looking unconvinced. "And you expect me to believe that? Your folks are one of the richest families in town, everyone knows that."

Steve felt something like laughter bubble up in his stomach, and he clamped down hard on it. These were his kidnappers? Just his luck that he'd been kidnapped by idiots. "What do you think where the money comes from? They're always somewhere making more of it." He crossed his arms and leaned back. "I'd say I hope you're not in a hurry. But I don't really wanna hang out with you until they get back ..."

The man stared at him for a few heartbeats, and the feeling of being a poor frog about to become a new science experiment intensified. Finally, he sighed and shook his head, waving for his crony with the pistol to come closer and speaking to him in a low voice so Steve couldn't understand what he said. Turning back to the teenager, he smiled – it did little to make him more likeable – and said: "Well, you'll have to enjoy our hospitality a while longer. Maybe use the time to pray Daddy gets home early, eh, rich boy?"

"But—" Steve started to protest but the two men turned away and left the room without looking back. A key turned in the lock outside, and then he was alone again.

Steve groaned and slid down the wall until he was on the floor. What a mess... And what would they do with him once they realised his parents were not around to pay the ransom or whatever they wanted? He had a few ideas but the most likely one was simple: He had seen their faces, his parents, at least, would not miss him ... They wouldn't let him go. He leaned forward and buried his hands in his hair. "Please, someone miss me. I promise I'll let Dustin make fun of me for the rest of my life about my kidnappers not doing their research if someone finds me before I get killed for it," he murmured towards the bare floor. The thought of Dustin made him perk up just a little. His parents might not notice he was missing but there were people who would.

And again he felt strangely thankful that monsters had turned his normal teenager life upside down over the last few years.


	2. Collapsed building - Joyce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joyce runs into trouble while investigating on her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeet!

The last thought Joyce had before the ceiling collapsed above her was that she should have waited for Hopper.

Then broken concrete and steel rained down on her, filling her mouth with dust and grit, striking her everywhere until something large and heavy came down on her and the pain in her chest hurtled her into darkness.

* * *

She woke an indeterminate amount of time later in darkness, to the sound of her own laboured breathing and the feeling of a large weight on her body, pressing her against the ground, coughing as she tried to force the dust in her mouth out. She spared a moment to be grateful and, quite frankly, surprised that she had woken again. She really had thought that had been it.

But then the need for air became pressing, and she started to struggle, trying to push whatever was on her chest off her. Panic threatened to cloud her mind when the uneven piece of wall – she guessed – did not budge but finally, she felt it move slightly. Taking a deep breath and forcing herself to remain calm, she tried again, and agonisingly slowly, she pushed it off her until the pressure on her chest left up slightly.

Joyce let her head fall back and took several deep, relieved breaths – only to start coughing violently, her chest reverberating with pain. Her ribs were screaming at her, and when the coughing finally abated, she felt more breathless and light-headed than she'd been with a ton of concrete weighing down on her. She forced herself to uncurl from the ball she had twisted herself into and lay on her back, staring upwards. There was a gap in the ceiling, and through it, she could see the floor above in dim light filtering in from there. A broken light strip was dangling from a cable. For whatever reason the men had tried to blow up the lab, they could not have wanted to destroy it all, or else they had failed.

It had been stupid of her to go alone, she could see that now. But there had been rumours she had heard at work that people had been seen near “the closed-down government building out there in the woods”, and she had panicked at the thought of something else coming out of that building that had brought her family so much pain. So while she had dutifully reported what she'd heard to Hopper, his suggestion to check it out the next day together had not been good enough. Instead, she had headed out there herself after work, armed with a flashlight and an axe. And had run into two men doing something suspicious in the locked-down building, the gate torn open with a bolt cutter. Unfortunately, even with an axe, she had not been a match for them, and so she had ended up locked in a room. Then the explosion happened.

Joyce tried to sit up and cried out sharply when something inside her _shifted_. Falling back, she panted through the waves of pain enveloping her and threatening to send her under again. It seemed to her that an eternity had passed when they receded, and she did not know if she dared to try again. But she had to – she had to get out of here and home to her family.

She hoped Jonathan would notice that she was missing – but he was working late, she believed. Maybe Will would if he hadn't gone home with one of his friends. She closed her eyes and bit back a sob at the thought of her two beautiful, brave, bright boys. What if she didn't make it back to them?

No, she could not think like that. She would get out of here. She would not let this laboratory claim any of her family, not even herself. She just needed to rest a little, gather her strength so she could stand the pain when she tried to move again.

Just a short rest …

Without noticing, her head fell to the side while shallow breaths lifted her injured ribcage only slightly, and a blanket muffling all sounds wrapped itself around the slim figure on the floor between debris and rubble.

* * *

“--oyce!”

The voice entered into her mind where she lay almost senseless, and her brows furrowed.

“Joyce!” it came again, clearer this time, and her head twitched as the woman fought to escape the tendrils of unconsciousness holding her down. At last, her eyes opened sluggishly, and she blinked, trying to remember where she was and what had woken her.

“Joyce!”

She took a breath that sent another sharp pain through her torso, but she pushed past it to call: “Here!” It came out as more of a croak, her voice scratchy and raw. “I'm here!” she tried again.

The shouts ceased, and she could only pray that it was because they had heard her. Fighting against the pull to close her eyes again, she stared up at the gap in the ceiling, willing them to appear or to call again.

“Joyce!” Not only did the voice come again, it was also accompanied by the tall, sturdy figure of Jim Hopper scrambling over the rubble towards her. He knelt down next to her, his expression stormy with worry and anger as he looked down at her. “What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded.

“Hop--” She raised a hand to reach for his arm and grimaced in pain. “I-- Can you lecture me later and get me out of here first?” Her voice was weak but the glare she sent his way was impressive either way.

The Chief grumbled something into his beard but then asked: “Where are you hurt? Can you move?”

“My chest – ribs. I don't know, I tried earlier, and it hurt so much ...”

His frown deepened, and he let his hands, so gentle despite their size, carefully wander over her chest. Joyce breathed through the pain awakening under their touch as bravely as she could but could not stop herself from crying out when he touched the area where she had felt something shift before.

He sat back on his haunches and scowled down at her. “That's half your ribs broken, I think. Well done.” She gave him a dark look in return. “I can carry you out if we're careful, or I'll need to call it in so they can send the fire brigade and an ambulance.” He looked around the rubble surrounding them. “I honestly should do it anyway, but you know, the doctor said to call him first. Not looking forward to that, either.” He looked back down at her, giving her a softer look, almost a smile. “So? Moving you will be painful either way but an ambulance would be safer.”

She shook her head. "No ambulance,” she insisted. The bigger the fuss around this place, the more danger it would mean for El and perhaps for others of their small group who knew about all of its dirty secrets. “Just get me out of here, and then you can call Owens and tell him someone blew up his old place of work.”

“Blew up--?” Hopper stared at her with unmasked horror.

“Yes, two guys, they threw me in here and locked the door, and then something exploded.” Joyce gasped for breath. “Come on, Hopper, do what you gotta do. I want to go home to my boys.”

“Next time think about them before you rush headlong into danger,” he grumbled but oh-so-carefully slid his arms beneath her shoulders and knees. He lifted, and she cried out at the pain but crunched the fabric of his uniform in her grip until she could breathe again. His face, so much closer to her now as he cradled her in his arms, was twisted with worry. “I don't want to hurt you,” he said, already preparing to set her down again, and she quickly shook her head. She didn't know if she could stand this a second time. “I'm okay,” she rasped. “Please, Hop.”

“Alright,” he relented. “But we're going straight to the hospital.”

She nodded, too exhausted to even think about arguing with him. Laying her head against his broad chest, she murmured: “Thanks for coming for me, Jim.”

If there were any hands she could lay her own and her family's safety in, they were those carrying her out of the laboratory right now.


	3. Day 8: Abandoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a quiet moment in her new home, Joyce finds grief to be a constant companion.

Joyce closed the door to her bedroom and leaned back against it, taking a deep breath. The house was empty, and she took a moment to listen to the silence. Things had been hectic ever since they had arrived in this new house, this new town, a new school, a new job. They were settling in, getting accustomed to their new life.

It wasn't easy. El struggled in school, Will had nightmares, Jonathan spent hours on the phone with Nancy. They all missed Hawkins. Not the town, not the old house, never what it had reminded them of. But still, so much that had been their life, her sons' childhood, the first bit of freedom El had ever had.

But it got better. And on days like this, she finally felt like she could breathe. Like she had made the right decision. Like they were on the right way to becoming a new family, to heal.

She pushed herself off the door and went over to her closet. Her new job in a women's clothing store was nice but she still felt like a stranger to herself in the nice clothes she wore on the job and was relieved whenever she got home and could slip back into jeans and sweaters, her old leather jacket, clothes that were as familiar to her as her own skin.

As she carefully folded the dress pants – a dearly-won concession on her bosses' part who would have preferred her in a skirt – and put her blouse on a hanger, her gaze fell onto a box that had been revealed when she pushed aside some of the clothes on the rack, and she froze. She stared at it for a moment, then kneeled down and very carefully reached for it. She had shoved it there after the move and tried not to think of it …

She pulled it forward and bit her lip, indecision written on her face. Was she ready to see it again? Finally, she gave herself a shake and picked it up, carried it out of the closet over to her bed. Almost reverently, she lifted the lid and put it aside.

The sight of Hopper's uniform shirt greeted her, and even though she had known what was in there, had packed the box herself, she gasped involuntarily at the sharp ache in her chest. It had been so long, it should not hurt so much. Not when El had stopped rereading his letter every night, not when she could go days without getting a new cigarette out of the box and looking around for someone to light it for her.

But it still hurt anyway.

She took the shirt out of the box, put it on her lap and let her fingers run over it, straightening out the lapels, playing idly with one of the buttons. And before she knew it, tears filled her eyes, and she bent forward, letting them spill onto the khaki fabric.

“It's not fair,” she whispered between sobs. “You know that, right? It's just not fair. None of this is.”

None of this. So many losses, Barb and Bob and Benny and many others they didn't even know about. Her son's carefree childhood. So many years of El being held prisoner, an experiment, the only love the twisted affection of the man she had called Papa. El's mother, forever caught inside her own mind.

Hopper, looking at her so incredibly softly. A tiny smile, a nod. Acceptance. Forgiveness. Goodbye.

The sob that ripped through her was almost violent, and she sprang upright, slinging the uniform shirt across the room, anger overpowering grief. “You weren't supposed to go like that!” she shouted. “You were supposed to take me to dinner at Enzo's! And El, El, you weren't supposed to leave her!”

As quickly as it had come, her anger burnt out and vanished, and she was left with nothing as she collapsed back onto her bed. “I know you didn't want to,” she continued, wiping her streaming eyes. “I know we didn't have a choice. That abandoning us was the last thing you ever wanted to do.

But sometimes I wish I could hate you for it.”


	4. Day 14: Heat exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max's walk home is longer than anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have woefully fallen behind on Whumptober but this one was ready to go for today - enjoy!
> 
> We'll see if I manage to catch up on the rest ...

Max tried to wet her lips with the tip of her tongue but it only grated unpleasantly over their rough surface, just as dry as they were.

This was ridiculous. She could deal with some heat – she was a California native!

Only, she had forgotten that she was a pale, red-headed California native … And though Indiana might have been a few degrees less hot than California at this time of the year, it was a different heat. No ocean nearby to send a cool breeze her way, just dry, thick air that dragged through her lungs like sand.

The girl sighed. If only she had taken Steve's offer … But her mom was supposed to pick her up. And if only she had her board … But no, that had been Neil's latest _discipline_. Max knew better than to complain about it. She knew what Neil's discipline could look like, too. She knew, and she was dreading the day when he would turn it on her. No more Billy to draw his ire.

She shook off the thought like she always did. Thinking about Billy didn't help. Neither did thinking about Neil. For now, she just counted her blessings that he just took her board, and that it meant she had to walk when her mom didn't show up. It just was too hot today … Her head had started to hurt a quarter an hour into her walk, and without her board, it was about an hour until she was home. Still twenty minutes to go.

She blinked in the afternoon sun. She should have worn the sunglasses she had bought with El at the mall, they would keep her from squinting so hard that her headache was getting worse. Everything was kind of fuzzy around the edges, too. She was tired, a bone-deep weariness that was unfamiliar to her. But she could lie down and rest when she got home, so she doggedly put one foot after the other. She wasn't sure where her mom was but at least Neil wouldn't be home for another few hours. Blessed, Neil-free hours in a cool, shady house … The thought of lying down on her bed, after drinking a huge glass of water, was almost hypnotic, and her dry throat ached with longing. Soon, she promised herself. She was coming up on her neighbourhood, three or four streets to go. She blinked again. Things were not only fuzzy, but they were also kind of wobbly, too. Or was that her?

It was only two streets now, she was basically home. But she was getting really dizzy … The next step had her stumble on the curb, and before she knew it, she was sitting down right there on the street.

Maybe she should just take a short break. It might be nicer to rest at home, with water in her cool, dark room, but she'd get there in a bit. Just a short rest. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her aching head against her knees, relishing the little shade her hair provided for her reddened face.

Someone touched her shoulder, and she startled upright, one arm raised to ward off whoever that was. For a moment, she only saw a dark shape outlined against the bright sunshine, and she squinted at it to get it into focus.

“--honey?” the shape was saying, and together with the sound, the image in front of her solidified into an older woman, almost grandma-age. She was leaning over Max, the lined face worried. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm,” Max returned, which was no answer at all. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. “I--”

“Oh dear,” the woman clucked, shaking her head. “You're soaked with sweat! And your face is so red – I hope you put on some sunscreen, sweetie, pale as you are!”

Max tried to follow her words but it was hard. Her head hurt. “No, I'm-- it's okay,” she finally managed to say.

The woman crouched closer, and Max wrapped her arms around herself to keep still. “I think you're heat-sick, poor girl! Let me get you some water. Do you live nearby? I've seen you around but normally, you've got one of those skateboard things, don't you? Why are you walking today, did you break it? I've got a grandson your age, he constantly breaks his things. Terrible. But you're a sweet girl, I'm sure you're more careful.”

Max blinked at the torrent of words and latched onto the one word she had actually registered. “Water?” she asked hopefully.

“Oh, right, sorry. I'm an old chatterbox.” The woman smiled at her and got up. “I'll be back in a minute, sweetie. Don't go anywhere!”

Max smiled faintly. “I won't,” she promised and let her head fall forward again when she heard the woman's steps head away.

A few moments later, she was back, and Max gratefully accepted the water glass, even though she was disturbed that her hands were actually trembling and she had to take the glass in both hands. But the first taste was the sweetest she had ever had, and she had to fight hard with herself not to drain the glass in one go but stop halfway through to take a deep breath. The woman had placed a hand on her back and was speaking to her in a low, soothing voice: “Shhh, take it slow, girl, you'll make yourself sick.”

Finally, Max had finished the glass and slumped back, holding it out to the woman. “Thank you,” she said hoarsely.

“You're welcome, my dear.” The woman beamed at her and took the glass. “Are you close to home? You better go home and lay down a bit somewhere cool. I'd say my Thomas can give you a ride but he's went to the store, I don't know when he'll be back. But if you want, you can come in and rest a bit until he does?”

“Oh-oh no!” Max shot upright and jumped to her feet, which was a mistake – black spots were popping before her eyes, and she swayed. The woman's hand shot out and grabbed her elbow, supporting her until Max felt herself steady. She took a deep breath and told her: “You're really nice, thank you. But that's not necessary, I'm almost home. We live in Cherry Road.” She pulled back her arm self-consciously – one good thing about her head probably being as red as her hair from the heat, the woman wouldn't be able to tell that Max was feeling herself blushing furiously. “Thank you so much for the water but really, it's okay. I can make it on my own now.”

The old woman scrutinised her for a moment worriedly but in the end, she shook her head. “If you say so, dear. Just take it slow and take care, alright?”

“I will,” Max promised. She gave the woman a smile and wave and then set off again. When she turned the corner, she glanced back over her shoulder and saw her still standing at the fence, watching her go. Max felt another blush burn her face, and she hurried on. She would never be able to tell the others that a grandma had saved her from death by heatstroke, they would mock her so much for being a dumbass who walked home in the heat and almost keeled over two streets from her destination …

Well, maybe she would tell Lucas.

For now, she breathed a sigh of relief when she closed the door behind her, and the house greeted her with silence and sweet, cool air.


End file.
